Changing the rules of the happiness game (Part 9) [Str8][mf][mast][inc]

When I got home, Mom and Lily were out; Dad told me they’d gone shopping. In a funny way, I was relieved; I wasn’t sure if I could face Lily right away. I needed some time completely by myself to mull over what I’d experienced last night. Retreating to my room, I closed the door, flopped down onto my bed, and stared the ceiling. I felt numb, a little detached from the real world. Part of that, I supposed, could have been the lingering effects of the pot; I had no prior experience with it, and thus nothing to compare it to. But my mind kept skittering away from the central enormity of what had happened the night before.

*Had* it happened? I tried to impose some discipline on my racing thoughts. Fact: I was half-asleep and had been — well, hallucinating perhaps wasn’t the right word, but I was imagining some fairly vivid scenes in my minds eye. So far as I could tell, though, those were all actual memories — being in the bath, seeing Lily for the first time, and so forth. Also fact: I had seen with my own eyes, heard with my own ears, Timothy suckling at Alice’s breast. I’d smelled the thick scent of Alice’s excitement, too. There was no question she had asked him to do it, he had reluctantly agreed, and she had masturbated herself to orgasm *while* he did it. The pot had certainly distorted my senses a bit, fueled my imagination when my eyes were closed, *but I knew what I had seen.* It hadn’t made me make the scene up out of whole cloth. It had happened; of that I was certain. And from what I’d heard, it wasn’t the first time it had happened.

*So, fine. Alice isn’t just an old, nudist hippie. She gets off on having her teenage son suckle her breasts.* I tried to reconcile this undeniable truth with the image I’d constructed of her as a person since we’d met. She was incredibly intelligent, perceptive, *interesting*; from the very beginning, she had seemed to have it all together, to be able to drill right down to the essential core of a topic of discussion, to see through the superficial, to weigh our opinions and discuss ideas without being either, on the one hand, caught up by emotion or, on the other hand, overly dispassionate and clinical. She also sang and played the guitar beautifully, was a wonderful gourmet cook, and a great storyteller. In short, she seemed like an almost perfect person. I’d been a little surprised by the nudism and then by the evident attention she’d paid to me when I was undressed, but it hadn’t really been off-putting; indeed I had been flattered that such a fantastic adult would pay, not only my opinions, but also my body any attention at all.

It had profoundly shaken me, though, to see her in the throes of apparently uncontrollable passion. She had almost *begged* Timothy to suckle. She had brought herself to a shuddering orgasm as he did so. I was reliving the old fears that had plagued me so many years ago, when I, to my horror, had first found myself, in early puberty, involuntarily aroused by lying entangled and almost bare with my sister at night. I had worried that I wasn’t in control of my sexual urges; that I would do things that I regretted, that I would corrupt Lily somehow, that I would ruin everything. Everything had worked out OK – I’d gotten control of myself, and when Lily herself eventually began to to want more, I’d conquered my fears and yielded to her. And now… Well, could I really accuse Alice of doing anything worse than I had? True, Timothy hadn’t seemed to be an enormously enthusiastic participant, and he’d protested when Alice tried to fondle him. But he’d acquiesced to Alice’s request without any real fuss, and he didn’t seem to mind the actual suckling part. At least the soft sounds he’d made while doing it had seemed pretty contented.

I still couldn’t get my head around it, though. Surely someone like Alice would have had enough self-control not to give in to such a clearly perverse desire. I seized upon the marijuana as a handy explanation; yes, it must be that. She had been stoned, she wasn’t really in control of herself. I’d knew now how weird it had felt, and I’d felt horny under the influence too. I made up my mind then and there: never again. I wasn’t going to smoke weed, I wasn’t going to drink, nothing. Never mind if drinking water kept one from feeling too crappy the next day; if being intoxicated could lead one to be that unable to control one’s behavior I would steadfastly avoid intoxication. It was fun, it felt good, but it was also was starting to terrify me. I’d felt like I was an even keel emotionally for years, thanks to sleeping together each night with Lily, and even after our parents threw a monkey wrench into that, we’d managed to recover. Thanks to her again; she had simply come into my bed and made love to me until I realized it would all be OK. No, I was happy just inhabiting a small world with her. I wanted nothing to do with anything — or anyone — who could throw me as far off-kilter as I’d seen the night before.

I thought about Lily. I was curiously unconcerned about the possibility, still hanging over our heads, that I might have impregnated her that first time. I’d read in the health class book that a single unprotected encounter had only a 1:20 chance of getting a woman pregnant (though I’d missed the statistical subtlety that that assumed a random date; Lily’s chances would have been much higher halfway through her cycle). More importantly, Lily’s unconcerned optimism the other night had calmed my anxiety; I somehow felt it’d be OK. I thought back to how we had made love three nights before; how I had made her come with my mouth, what it had tasted like, how wonderful it had been then to enter her, to have her whisper “come Robbie, come,” to feel the great release of built-up pleasure, to pump my seed with no fear into the condom inside her, feeling as close to my little sister as two humans could possibly get; to embrace afterwards and fall asleep in each other’s arms, as we had for so many years. I was getting hard, and even though I knew Lily and I would lie together tonight as well, I couldn’t resist unbuttoning my jeans and freeing my erection. Quickly, listening for footsteps in the hall, I brought myself to a shuddering orgasm thinking about Lily. In the final moments, though, I was helpless to evade the memory of Alice masturbating wildly with Timothy pressed to her chest, and after I felt soiled and regretted having just jerked off.

I remembered suddenly that I hadn’t showered since the previous afternoon, and almost panicking — what if Lily came home now and was disgusted by my general uncleanness! — I locked myself in the bathroom and ran a bath: though I almost always showered these days, I didn’t want to be reminded right now of my last two showers. I settled into the hot water and stared blankly at the ceiling. My thoughts strayed to the long-forgotten scene that my mind had conjured up for me, unbidden, while I was stoned the previous night. I tried to analyze it dispassionately. What had it been? I’d been a little kid — it was even before Lily was born — and my mom had been giving me a bath. I’d always loved baths. The warm water, my mom’s gentle caresses — only having my head dunked partway under the water to rinse my hair had been a little scary. But this time something had gone wrong. Mom had washed me *down there,* — saving it for the end, and keeping it quick, as she always did — and it had tickled a little and I’d giggled and my thing had gotten hard. I knew my thing was, mysteriously, bad and suspect, especially when it got hard; Mom and Dad had both always roughly slapped my hand away when I touched it, and they always wanted me to cover it up even when it felt nice to just walk around without anything on. But Mom’s reaction still frightened me; she pulled her hand away like my thing had hurt her. She didn’t even finish washing me down there, but let the bath out and wrapped me in a towel to dry.

After that I always did my best to make sure that my thing didn’t get hard when I was in the bath, and after Lily came along, Mom was busy all the time and I had to learn to wash myself in the bath. I remembered a little later, when Lily was old enough that Mom was bathing her in the tub instead of a plastic basin in the kitchen sink as (to my great amusement) she had used at first, I asked why I couldn’t get in the bathtub and be bathed along with Lily. Or even show her how to take a bath, since I was such a little expert by then. Mom had frowned and said she didn’t that would be a-pprop-ri-ate and I learned a new word (that I could never hear thereafter without a little tinge of shame) and I understood somehow that my thing was involved and I never asked again.

Now, I lowered my gaze from the ceiling and contemplated my “thing.” No danger of it getting hard right now. I didn’t really possess a good standard of comparison — I’d had intimate contact with Timothy’s penis of late, true, but I knew very well that Timothy was a late bloomer and his genitals hadn’t finished growing. But I thought: hey, it actually looks pretty good. Even soft, it was fairly big; it had a distinct presence nestled there in my blond pubic hair, but it didn’t seem disproportionate to the rest of my body either. I liked to look at it. I knew Lily liked to look at it. Hell — I thought, sardonically — I knew *Alice* liked to look at it, though I quickly tried to wipe that image from my head. I allowed myself to wonder idly if mom would be shocked if she saw it now. The thought repelled me but I was glad I was able to entertain it without any real mental distress. She would never see it, but I didn’t think there’d be any reason for her to be horrified if she did. I had nothing to be ashamed about; it was a good-looking thing and I had pretty good control over it. I would take care never to hurt anyone with it, and to bring myself and the person I cared about most in the world, Lily, pleasure with it.

I got out of the bath, feeling more optimistic and centered. I dried myself with a big fluffy towel, put on the clean clothes I’d brought into the bathroom, and went back to my room to start my homework, leaving the door open. About an hour later, Mom and Lily came back and I went out to see them. They seemed to be in a good mood. Lily had gotten a haircut; it was shorter than before and styled more consistantly; she looked a little bit like a younger version of many of the girls in my class. I privately thought her old hairstyle, while it hadn’t really reflected any clear intent, had been more uniquely Lily and thus preferable, but of course I didn’t say anything. It didn’t really matter to me. They’d also bought some clothes and had a mother-daughter lunch out, the whole nine yards. I was happy for Lily; she seemed to have had a good time. I went back to my room to continue working on my homework, and soon enough Lily wandered in with her shopping bags and offered to model her new clothes for me. Of course I agreed enthusiastically, and Lily immediately began to strip. I did my best to suppress my anxiety that Mom or Dad might come in; even if they did, what was the worst that could happen? I looked at her body appreciatively as she rummaged in one of the bags; she had on skimpy panties and a loose camisole instead of the bra shed usually been wearing, and it was nice to see her little breasts free to move about under the fabric. I’d really hated that pointless stretchy bra. *God, she’s beautiful,* I thought. I was ashamed to think about how I’d been ogling Alice all weekend. Why would I ever want to look at anyone else but my lovely sister?

Lily paraded, one after the other, her new purchases; I praised each of them effusively, though I didn’t care much about clothes, especially girl clothes and as far as I was concerned everyone might as well just go around in jeans and a T-shirt all the time if they didn’t want to be naked. Which latter state, I was willing to admit after spending most of the weekend that way, would probably overall be the most comfortable, at least in the summer, it weren’t such a big fucking deal for everyone. After she was done, she sat down on my bed and I looked over from my desk, aching for her. It wasn’t even sexual desire that I felt at that moment, though I knew that would come. It was just uncomplicated, uncompromising love. I wanted to hold her, to make her feel endlessly safe in my arms, to feel secure myself in the knowledge that she would always be there to hold me and be held. Once again I found myself thinking about one of the memories I’d somehow dredged up while I was stoned: four years old, looking at the tiny bundle resting on my mother’s bare chest, and having eyes for nothing else but this spark of new life. I had only the fuzziest memories of Lily’s earliest years, but I knew I had always wanted to be sure she was OK. I used to want to help my mom; to check to her to make sure she wasn’t doing anything wrong when she bathed or changed Lily. I remembered being anxious that something might happen to Lily when I was in nursery school and kindergarten. We spent hours and hours together, playing or just quietly coexisting. Everyone had always commented on how close we were; it was family legend that Lily’s first intelligible word after “mama” was “Wah-bee.”

Late that night, Lily crept into my room and padded silently over to my bed. I moved over to let her in and she embraced me, still without saying a word. I held her tightly, not moving, my hands on her naked buttocks, her small breasts against my chest. All of a sudden the accumulated stress of the past few days washed over me, like a wave knocking me over at the beach when I was little. I began to sob, as quietly as I could manage. I couldn’t see Lily’s face clearly from the darkness and the tears but I could feel her stroking my hair and hear her whispering “Robbie… Robbie… what’s wrong, Robbie?” I couldn’t verbalize even a fraction of what was on my mind; even if I could, how could I possibly explain it to her? But I didn’t want her to think I was falling apart or that I didn’t want her there. “It’s nothing, Lil. I missed you.” “Robbie, I’m here now… please, please stop crying.” Stifling my sobs, I tried to pull myself together. I held Lily tight, drawing strength from her presence. After a while, with no conscious intent, we began to rock back and forth, just as for years and years we had always rocked ourselves to sleep. I would have been happy just drifting off like that — I was *tired,* worn out from trying to understand everything, weary of anxiety. But Lily was pressing herself against me insistently, and soon my penis responded to her need, becoming erect between her thighs. “I want you,” Lily whispered urgently, and yes, I wanted her as well. I fumbled for a condom, ripped the package and put it on; Lily got on top of me and I could feel her wetness as she brushed against my thigh and I reached down and steadied myself and she slid onto me and I felt the tightness and thrusted up into it and she moved back and forth and I felt like I could go on forever and then Lily began to moan quietly and I wasn’t ready to come and then magically I was and at the exact moment that she grabbed me hard and her young body began to jerk and shudder in my arms, I tumbled headfirst into my orgasm, and as I spilled my seed in great spurts I could feel her vagina contracting around the condom, trying in vain to pull my brotherly gift into her.

Yet again, we fell asleep after, and didn’t wake up until just before dawn, though this time we both opened our eyes at about the same time. We lay there, just smiling at each other, enjoying the closeness, for a few minutes; then I said, “Lil,…” and she understood, and kissed me, then got up to return to her room. And so it was for each of the next few nights: Lily would come to me around midnight, we would make love, fall asleep, then wake up and part before dawn. At school during the day, I would fend off Timothy’s suggestions that I go over to visit, explaining that I had a lot of schoolwork to catch up with. It wasn’t entirely false: the end of the term was three weeks away and I had several important papers to write and finals to study for. I wasn’t the sort to leave everything to the last minute and get into a frenzy, but with everything that had been going on, I’d hadn’t gotten as far with the papers as I’d planned to. I didn’t worry much about the final tests, the first of which was coming up on Monday; I’d always done well on those, though of course I planned to go over my notes before each.

That weekend I made good on my resolution, staying at home and knocking off two papers, English and government, and convincing myself that I was in good shape for the math exam, traditionally my weakest subject. Lily sat quietly with on my bed much of the weekend, providing moral support and encouragement, and occasionally going out to bring me snacks and water. She also read my papers — I expected find them boring or incomprehensible, but she surprised me with a few cogent comments. As quiet and unassuming as she usually presented herself, it was easy to forget that she was an unusually intelligent child; probably smarter than I had been at that age. She wasn’t the sort to tie herself into knots analyzing things, but her instincts were reliable and the ease with which she understood the gist of my papers, written at a high-school level about high-school topics, belied her age. On Monday morning, as we took the elevator down together, she wished me good luck on the test then surprised me with a deep kiss, letting go just before the doors opened into the lobby. I felt a little ashamed that I hadn’t asked her much about what she was facing at school; surely at the very least end-of-term tests? Her summer break, I thought, would begin around the same time as mine.

The math test turned out to be a breeze. I’d never exactly been great shakes at math, but pre-calc as they called it basically seemed to be a rehash of stuff I’d already picked up in algebra, geometry, and other earlier classes. And our teacher was pretty good. Or maybe I was just getting better at math. I figured I was probably going to get at least a 90 in the class, maybe even better, and I was in a very good mood when I met Timothy and the guys for lunch. It didn’t hurt that I had two term papers in my backpack ready to turn in early, if I wanted to, though I had been thinking about taking Timothy up on his offer to go over and retype them into his home computer, since they weren’t actually due until the next week. He had a so-called “word-processing” program that apparently would let me generate a perfect copy with no errors, and while he didn’t have a printer, one his friends, David did and had offered to print all of our papers out. They’d been doing this since freshman year and I’d seen Timothy’s papers and been impressed; they looked professional. Timothy brought the offer up at lunch and I agreed — I’d go over there on Friday and we could type the papers, hang out, and generally have ourselves another fun weekend. I was a bit apprehensive about seeing Alice again, but I figured I’d politely decline any wine and grass and hopefully nothing too bizarre would happen. As for getting physical with Timothy, as he evidently was expecting — well, I’d deal with that when the time came.

My mood only got better that evening, when Lily confided in me that her period had arrived – in fact a bit earlier than she’d expected. I hadn’t realized how my anxiety about her getting pregnant had been hanging around in the back of my mind, adding to my general feeling of stress. The good news buoyed my spirits, indeed made me feel almost giddy, to the extent that Dad even commented at dinner that I seemed to be unusually happy and asked, only half-jokingly, whether I’d met a girl at school. I winked surreptitiously at Lily and, following her lead, mumbled something about having a crush on someone named “Alice” (I regretted the choice of name as I said it). If I thought that would get him off my back, I was greatly disappointed; he pressed for details, as Lily tried desperately to keep from cracking up, and I did my best to invent a generic-seeming not-really-girlfriend based on a girl in our friend group (who in fact I had had a bit of a crush on at one point — it seemed an eternity ago, though).

That night Lily came at midnight, not naked this time but wearing panties with a pad, as she did during that time of month. The sight of her topless, with her tummy protruding just a tiny bit over the white cotton of her panties reminded me of the days before we’d started sleeping fully nude every night and I was instantly erect. She was eager as ever to make love, but I wasn’t quite sure how that would work — wasn’t she bleeding down there? I was unclear on the anatomical details. In the end we found a good solution; Lily clambered on top of me, took me between her thighs and rubbed herself back and forth against my hardness, clenching her thighs rhythmically. When I could tell from her breathing that she was getting close, I put my hand down the back of her panties and toyed with her anus, something I knew from experience excited her immensely. She slipped smoothly into an orgasm and then rested on top of me. When she rolled off and saw that I was still hard, she asked shyly if she could taste it. I remembered the intense pleasure she — and I — had experienced when I had licked her down there the previous week; but I also, without knowing exactly why, didn’t feel totally comfortable with the prospect of her reciprocating. Part of it might have been that I worried she would find the smell or taste off-putting, or that I wasn’t sure how she’d react if I ejaculated in her mouth or on her face. Or perhaps I just didn’t want to let go of her? Gazing into her eyes made me happy. So I guided her hand down and her fingers encircled my shaft, and, just as she had so many times before, she gently pulled back and forth until I moaned a warning and then glazed her tummy with hot semen. “That was so nice, Robby,” she said, quietly.

On Wednesday night, our parents dropped a small bombshell. They had been invited by friends of theirs (I didn’t recognize the name) to a weekend getaway in the Berkshires. There was some outdoor concert opening that weekend and their friends had two extra tickets; it was apparently a fairly big deal. They were planning to leave Friday afternoon, before we got back from school, and wouldn’t be back until Sunday evening. We were, they felt, old enough to stay by ourselves for a few days — after all they had frequently left us alone when they went for an evening — but they wanted me to promise that I’d be in charge and not leave Lily by herself. I was of course thrilled at this development, though I anticipated some awkwardness with Timothy since I’d promised him I’d be spending the weekend with him, hanging out and entering our term papers into his computer. What I wasn’t expecting was the deeply hurt expression with which he greeted the news when I told him the next day at lunch, even though I framed it as having to take care of my little sister and explained that I had no choice in the matter (which of course was true, even if taking care of Lily was literally the thing I most wanted to do in the world). He acted chilly towards me for the rest of the hour and said he was too busy studying to hang out that afternoon.

I didn’t want to hurt Timothy, of course, but I thought it was unreasonable of him to be getting that upset — things come up! In any case, my overall elation with how things were shaping up and the general end-of-term excitement conspired to prevent me from worrying too much about it. I would be spending a whole weekend alone with Lily! We could spend two whole nights in each other’s arms without worrying about being caught. We could take baths together again. We could have dinner together and pretend to be a couple — hell, we could even go out for dinner and pretend to be a couple! *Lil’ll enjoy that,* I thought. I resolved to try to find a restaurant, not too expensive and not too close to home, where I could take her out on a real “date” Saturday night. I turned in my term papers that afternoon — I figured I wasn’t going to get them printed out, but they were in pretty good shape as is and I enjoyed the feeling of not having to think about them any more. I endured one more final exam in the last period, then headed home right after school, looking forward to planning the weekend with Lily.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/p3trx7/changing_the_rules_of_the_happiness_game_part_9